Irish Christmas
by Michael2
Summary: Colin celebrates his first Christmas since becoming unstuck-COMPLETE
1. The Green Shamrock

I felt the world tug at my feet, and I found myself standing on a sidewalk. I looked around, and I noticed the architecture is quite different. I looked at my watch, given to me six months ago to tell me how much time I had left. It looked like I would spend Christmas here. from what I was used to.  
  
I read the storefront signs, and I could not even recognize the writing. Loking around, I saw almost everyone on this block was a Negro. It looked like the public library wpould not be the place to go to learn more about the world. I hoped to find Quinn, and I also hoped he spoke a language I am fluent with.  
  
I decided to munch on some Doritos chips that I had bought just an hour ago. I make sure I bring food and warter along because currency from one world may not be valid in the next.   
  
I wandered around for an hour or so, when someone shouted to me. I turned, and I saw this Negro man in a blue uniform, yelling at me in some language I did not understand.   
  
"I don't mean any harm," I said.   
  
The fellow just yelled at me. I slowly backed off.  
  
"Easy," I said. "I've no intention of harming you."  
  
I could see a pistol holstered on to his waist. His right hand was touching the butt of the pistol. I did not know if this guy was just afraid or wanted to attack me.   
  
Then I saw a police car park on the curb, and two more people came out. They all yelled at me.  
  
I guess I had to surrender.  
  
I was taken to a police station. I was fingerprinted and photographed. This was an all-too-familiar situation for me. I was taken to an interrogation room, where the only furniture was one table and two chairs. Light was provided by a lamp hanging from the ceiling directly above the table. I waited there for at least an hour.   
  
Then some big Negro man came inside, dressed in clothes like those in West Africa. "Hello, there," he said with this strange accent. "I am Detective Karoni. I came all the way from police headquarters because I can speak your language."  
  
Was I wanted for some crime on this world? I hoped it was not a capital crime for which I would be executed before Christmas. "My name is Colin Mallory," I said.   
  
"So you're an Irish," he said. "An Irish with no passport, no immigration identification, no ethnic identity patch?"  
  
"Well, yeah," I said. My great-great grandfather, Seamus Mallory, immigrated from Ireland in the 1860's.   
  
"Okay, Irish," said the detective. "What were you doing in the wrong part of town?"  
  
"Wrong part? Was I not supposed to be there?"  
  
"Well, most of the people of this city don't like Irish loitering in their neghborhoods, especially one without any identification."  
  
"Well, can you at least tell me why your police took me into custody?"  
  
"Do you have a job?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then we arrested you for vagrancy," said the detective. "You will be seeing a judge shortly."  
  
A police officer entered the room; he was carrying an old-looking jacket. "You better be wearing this, Irish," said the detective.   
  
I looked at the sand-colored jacket. It was actually quite warm, and will be useful to me in the winter months, at least in worlds with the same axial tilt as this one. God knows how many times I visited worlds with a reverse axial tilt. I saw a hint of green ojn the jacket. I saw a green shamrock on the left sleeve.  
  
I guess this was an ethnic identity patch.   
  
Anyway, I was taken to a judge, which was in this domed building I guessed was a courthouse. I was taken to the courtroom. The courtroom had benches and desks. The arrangement was the same as courtrooms in my adoptive world, even if the interior decoration was different.  
  
I looked around and saw the bailiffs and the court clerk; all were Negroes.   
  
"Hello there," said a Negro lady. "I will be your interpreter. The judge will be on his way."  
  
Then some old Negro fellow came. He was apparently the judge, even if he did not dress like judges where I grew up. The judge said something, and the detective who questioned me said something else.  
  
"They are confirming that you are charged with vagrancy," said the interpreter.  
  
Then the judge was apparently saying something to me.   
  
"Mr. Mallory," said the interpreter. "The city has better uses of its property tax revenue than to prosecute vagrants. Now, I am inclined to turn you over to immigration court so they can deport you back to Irishland." I never been to Ireland before, and for a minute I thought I'd spend Christmas in Ireland. "But there is an Irish doctor who needs help. You'll be working for a living, Irish. And if you get in trouble again, you'll be on a plane back to Irishland."  
  
Then the judge rang a bell, which was equivalent to banging a gavel.  
  
I got up to leave. the detective who questioned me faced me.  
  
"We'll be keeping an eye out for you, Irish," he said. "Just stay out of our neighborhoods."  
  
I was riding in a police car for a few minutes and we turned onto a street. I noticed that some of the storefront signs were in English.   
  
The car stopped in front of a building. A sign read "ST. PATRICK'S HOSPITAL". One of the police officers opened the door, and I got out. He escorted me inside the hospital's lobby.  
  
The lobby looked like any hospital lobby, with chairs and a table and a desk for the receptionists. I saw magazines, some in English and some in this country's dominant language.   
  
A man in a white coat came out. He had red hair, a red beard, and glasses. I noticed the green shamrock on his left sleeve. He spoke to the cops, and they spoke to him back.   
  
"So you must be the new help the judge promised me," said the man in an Irish accent. "I am Dr. Hennessey."  
  
"I am Colin Mallory," I said. "So, how long have you been working here?"  
  
"I was in this practice for over thirty years, laddie. I am respected among the Irish folk."  
  
"Well, at least I have a job. What will I be paid?"  
  
"You'll get room an' board, plus a little bit of money for yer drinkin'. There's a tavern across the street from here."  
  
"Sir, I won't be that long. I'll be gone before the New Year."  
  
"There is somethin' that I've been wonderin'. How is it that ye dinna speak with an Irish accent? Your accent is unheard of."  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Just work hard and keep outa trouble, and ye'll do fine."  
  
And so I worked. Most of it was janitorial duties such as mopping floors and cleaning toilets. Some of the solutions I used to clean smelled strong. I guessed hospitals had to be sterile, on account of all the sick people that come here.   
  
I also noticed that everyone who comes here is Irish, on account of their green shamrocks. No Negroes visited this hospital. I kept working like this for hours. I met a couple of doctors, and I learned that Dr. Hennessey was the chief doctor.  
  
"Okay, Colin," said the doctor. "the hospital will be payin' for your apartment. I should show ye where it is."  
  
I was taken to my apartment, which was right above the hospital; apparently the hospital only occupied the first five floors of the building.   
  
It was barely furnished. It was just a studio apartment with a bed and a couch. there was not even a television. I oriented myself, noting the location of the kitchen alcove and the bathroom. At least the place was clean.   
  
Since there was nothing to do in this apartment but eat and sleep, I decided to go to the bar across the street.   
  
The bar was called the Irisher; it was written in both English and the country's primary language. The inside was dimly lit, with a wooden floor and signs advertising brands of beer I was not familiar with. The bar was already crowded at this time of night. I noticed almost everyone had a green shamrock, although there was this Chinese guy with a red dragon on his sleeve and a fellow with a yellow Star of David on his sleeve. Christmas decorations adorned the walls and the doorway. Music was playing from a jukebox.  
  
I sat at the bar. the bartender, an middle-aged man with a big brown moustache, said something to me in the native language. Then he asked me," What do ye want?"  
  
"Get me a Killian's on tap," I said.  
  
"Sure, laddie."  
  
He poured beer into a mug from a tap. After serving me, i asked him, "Do you know a Michael Mallory?"  
  
"No, I dinnae. Me name is Michael Mulligan, in case yer wonderin'. Ye know, ye dinnae speak with an Irish accent, even though you wear the green shamrock. In fact, I never heard of yer accent before."  
  
"I'm a traveler, just passing through. I'll be spending Christmas here."  
  
"Ye got a family?"  
  
"They're far away."  
  
I sat, drinking my cold beer. I wonder what Quinn and the others were doing right now. I remember the first Christmas I spent with them. It was in San Francisco, and we stayed at the Dominion Hotel. I had not had Christmas with family in a long time; I wonder if I ever will. I watched the television, which showed news, but I did not understand since it was not in English.  
  
Maybe they will try to recall me. But with each minute, it looks like I would be spending Christmas alone. Christmas 1998 was the first time I spent Christmas with family ever since my parents died. I sure enjoyed the company of my brother and my companions. I thought this would be a new phase in my life, when I would have a family to spend the holidays with. Even though we could not get around the slidecage to get to my homeworld, I still had my brother. Will I spend the rest of my life wandering the multiverse?  
  
"Hello there," a female voice said even as I sipped my beer.   
  
I turned and saw a pretty red-haired woman. Like most of the people here, she wore a green shamrock on the sleeve of her coat. Underneath that coat she wore a white blouse. There were two other women apparently with her.   
  
"Hi," I said.  
  
"I never seen ya here before," she said.  
  
"I am just passing through. I am an itinerant traveler."  
  
"Me name is Heather. What is yer name?"  
  
"Colin."  
  
"Nice to meet ya, Colin."  
  
"So what do you do?"  
  
"I'm a schoolteacher at the Irish school. I've been teaching for six years."  
  
"Do you teach history?"  
  
"Yes, I do."  
  
"I love history. I've read many versions of history for the past year or so. So tell me about history?"  
  
"World history or the history of this country?"  
  
"The country."  
  
"It would take a long time."  
  
"Well, try to keep it under fifteen minutes."  
  
"This continent was conquered by niggers from western Africa about seven hundred years ago. They created several countries, including this one. New technologies were developed and populations grew."  
  
"I know there are laws requiring us to wear these patches. When were they passed?"  
  
"Over a hundred years ago. There were concerns over immigration from Ireland and China. The niggers wanted to keep us in our places."  
  
"Were you born here, or did you come from Ireland?"  
  
"I came from Ireland when I was nine years old."  
  
"This country has discriminatory laws against you simply because you're Irish. Why be here?"  
  
"Well, it's better than ireland. Ireland is ruled by thugs who take what they please. The niggers treat us better than the rulers of Ireland. But enough about me. Tell me about yourself."  
  
So I did. I told her about my travels to various places, omitting references to parallel universes.  
  
"Very interestin' life, Colin." She then started talking to the other two women she came here with, in a language I did not understand. I heard them giggling. One of them said something to me.  
  
"Uh, could you repeat that?" I asked.  
  
"Ye dinna speak Gaelic?" asks Heather. "An Irish that dinna speak Gaelic, but speaks English?"  
  
"I never been to Ireland."  
  
"Well, let me introduce ye to me friends, Michelle and Kathleen."  
  
"Hi," I said to them. "So tell me about yourselves."  
  
So they did. Michelle was a cocktail waitress, and Kathleen was a cashier at a store. They and Heather have been friends since high school.   
  
"Was it a big class?" I asked.  
  
"Well, it was an Irish-only school," said Michelle.   
  
"We all knew each other," said Kathleen.  
  
And so I spent the rest of my time drinking. I wondered if Quinn, Rembrandt, and Maggie would just pop up and surprise me. At least the three women here kept me company. They even introduced me to some other people, all of them Irish.   
  
I looked through the comics section of a newspaper. I noticed that comic strips use caricatures of Irish and Chinese and Jews.   
  
Finally, the Irisher closed, and Michael Mulligan closed up the place. I went out.  
  
"Do ye need a ride home, Colin?" asked Heather.  
  
"I live in an apartment above the hospital," I said. "There is a spare room I could use until I leave on the twenty-seventh."  
  
"Well, at least ye won't be too far if ye get hurt."  
  
"It was nice having you company. Maybe I could see you on Christmas."  
  
"What about yer family?" she asked.  
  
"It's complicated. I might not be able to see them this Christmas. I pray to God that they might make it."  
  
I gave Heather a hug, and then I went up to my apartment above the St. Patrick's Hospital. I wondered if God sent Quinn and Rembrandt and Maggie here to greet me in time to celebrate Christmas. But the apartment was empty.  
  
I lay down on bed and prayed that Quinn and Rembrandt and Maggie are okay, and for God to look after them as He looks after me. 


	2. The True Meaning of Christmas

The next morning, I woke up. Quinn and the others were not waiting for me, much to my disappointment. I went down to St. Patrick's Hospital, which provided my breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I had my box of corn flakes and a glass of orange juice and a slice of white bread. One of the nurses told me that Dr. Hennessey will be doing the night shift. It was Christmas Eve, and many of the doctors and nurses will have Christmas off, while others will be on Christmas duty to provide emergency medical care. I, being only the guy who cleans the floors and toilets and stuff, will get Christmas off. If only I had someone to spend Christmas with.  
  
Christmas had often been a lonely time for me, since I did not have a family most of my life. The only Christmas greeting I got wasa card from my Uncle Mac who lived in Portland, Oregon. Come to think of it, Quinn's version of Uncle Mac also lived in Portland.   
  
Last year was the best Christmas I had in my life. Quinn and I even went to the local version of our parents' house on Christmas Eve, incognito of course, since we did not want to complicate the lives of our duplicates. We had contacted the local version of Quinn in order to get his help on finding a way around the slidecage, but he never worked with wormholes or parallel universes. So we just decided to celebrate Christmas. We all went to Mass, with Father Vincent Feretti presiding. We all heard the Gospel account of the birth of the Lord Jesus Christ, a story I never got tired of, a storey that kept hope alive for me through troubling times.  
  
And Jesus was watching over me since I became unstuck.   
  
I went on to do my duties of vacuuming carpets and sweeping floors and mopping floors and cleaning toilets and washing dishes and taking out the trash. It sure kept me busy for hours. I worked four hours steaight before I got a break.  
  
I went to the break room for fifteen minutes. There were some English-language magazines lying on a wooden table. I read a news magazines. I read that one third of the Irish lived below the poverty level, and that almost half of the nation's prison population was Irish. More Irish men were in prison than in college. Of course, these magazines were biased towards the Irish, given that it was written by Irish authors for Irish readers, so I should exercise some skepticism.   
  
"Hello there," a female voice said. I looked and I saw Heather, whom I met at the bar last night.  
  
"Don't you have school to teach?" I asked.  
  
"School's out until next year, silly," she said. "Ye told me ye were workin' in the hospital."  
  
"Well, I don't have much time," I said, "but I appreciate you coming here to visit me."  
  
"Well, Colin, I came here 'cause I'd like to spend more time with ye. Maybe we could go for a walk after yer done here?"  
  
"Wait. Heather, I'll be leaving on the twenty-seventh and I might not come back. I don't want to break your heart."  
  
"Well, if ye are leavin', then we might as well make the most of it, dontya think?"  
  
She had a point.   
  
So that's what I did. We went for a walk in a park near the neighborhood the people of the city refer to as Little Dublin. It was a huge park, with grass and trees and ponds and concrete pathways. There were community centers and stuff. Drinking water was provided by drinking fountains, some reserved for Negroes. I saw some people sitting on benches, eating sandwiches and chips. The day was a little chilly, though the jacket I was wearing helped.   
  
"So ye won't be with yer family tomorrow," said Heather.  
  
"Yes," I replied. "It's a bit complicated."  
  
"Well, there is a neighborhood tradition that we all gather in the Irisher during the day. Maybe ye won't be with yer family, but ye can be with us. And I'm sure yer brother'll be thinkin' of ya."  
  
"Do you like horseback riding?" I asked.  
  
"I did that once when I was a little girl. Me mother took me to a horse ranch in the foothills to the east. I still remember."  
  
"I grew up around horses," I said. "I once worked in a stable in El Segundo. I remember riding horses with my brother Quinn in the Lake Tahoe basin last year."  
  
"Lake Tahoe?"  
  
"I guess you never heard of it."  
  
We continued walking for a few minutes. A man on a bicycle just rode by.   
  
"I remember when I went to a fun park near the docks this summer," said Heather. "I was there with Michelle an' Kathleen."  
  
"They allowed Irish in?" I asked.  
  
"There are a lot of Irish in the city; the park owners dinnae want to exclude us. A quarter of the park patrons are Irish, and the profit margins are eleven percent. Ye can do math, right?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"So tell me, why do ye have to be leavin' after Christmas. Why not stay? I can recommend ye for a job at the school. Ye won;t be paid as much as me, but ye can probably get some new clothes and stuff."  
  
"You won't believe this, but there is a reason I can not stay."  
  
So I told her about my situation, and my travels through parallel universes.  
  
"Yer a very creative person," said Heather. "Still, 'tis an interestin' concept. Maybe we can make it into a picture tube show."  
  
"Now you know why I like history. I've read so many versions of it, and comparing different versions of history for the same planet-or the same person-gives me an idea about where we're headed."  
  
"Colin, are there worlds where we dinnae have to wear green shamrocks or drink at certain water fountains or live in certain neighborhoods on account of being Irish?"  
  
"Yes, there is. Of course, in my experience, ethnic discrimination is the rule, rather than the exception. I once read about this man named Martin Luther King. Apparently, the version of him that I read about lived in a world where Negroes are treated the way the Irish are treated here. He publicly spoke out against it, organized boycotts. He even got arrested a few times. He earned the respect of people both Negro and white, and convinced them that equal treatment under the law should be the rule. He had the courage to change things, and he did."  
  
"Amazin' story," said Heather. "Ya know, there are a few people, like our own Father Flannigan, who publicly speaks out against these ethnic control laws. He's been arrested a few times for refusing to wear his shamrock. Ya know, it just occurred to me. The niggers never arrested anyone simply for speaking out against their laws, an' most people arrested for not wearin' a patch only get probation. In Ireland, anyone who speaks out against the government is killed. It's sometimes easy to forget how lucky the Irish in this country is."  
  
"But you still oppose the laws making you wear the shamrocks and keeping you from living in certain neghborhoods."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Let me say this, Heather. A few courageous people can make a difference. And that is something I observed on many versions of Earth. And we could start by not calling those people niggers?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I noticed that you and the others refer to Negroes as niggers. It's a degrading term."  
  
"So? Ye should hear what they call us."  
  
I looked towards the street that forms the boundary of the park, and I was looking at the intersection with the main street going through Little Dublin.  
  
And then I saw it. A delivery truck coming from Little Dublin strikes a bicycle.   
  
Heather and I both ran to the site of the collision. We both saw this Negro man in sweats, lying down onn the asphalt of the street.  
  
The truck driver came out; he too was a Negro. He said something in the native language. heather spoke to him in that native language.  
  
"What are we doing?" I asked. "Is he still alive?"  
  
"We're gonna get an ambulance for this man," said Heather. "He's badly hurt."  
  
"St. Patrick's is just a block down this street; we can use the truck to get him there."  
  
"That's an Irish hospital."  
  
"It's also the closest hospital from here. It has an emergency room. Please, Heather."  
  
Heather spoke to the truck driver, and he agreed to take the injured man to St. Patrick's, for a minute later we were at the front of the hpospital, courtesy of the truck driver.  
  
Heather and I took the man to the emergency room.  
  
"What is he doin' here?" yelled Dr. Hennessey as soon as he saw us bring the injured Negro inside.  
  
"He needs help," I said. "He was struck by a truck."  
  
"So take 'im to a nigger hospital. I'll call the ambulance."  
  
"There's a hospital right here," I said.   
  
"The niggers would never treat us in their hospitals; why should we treat 'em in ours?"  
  
"Because he's hurt," said Heather. "He could die."  
  
"Please, sir," I asked.   
  
"Okay, we'll take care of 'im," said Hennessey. He and some nurses and doctors took the injured man into the emergency room.  
  
The two of us waited. The truck driver was on the phone, probably talking to his boss.   
  
"This is why I was here," I said.  
  
"What do ya mean?" asked Heather.  
  
"Well, sometimes I go to certain worlds for a reason. I came here to get medical help for that man at the nearest hospital. God is guiding my journey thrpough parallel worlds."  
  
It was hours later when Dr. Hennessey came out of the emergecy. "He'll be all right," he said. "He just had a few fractures; he's in no immediate danger. Ye were right ta bring 'im here, Colin."  
  
"Well, I try to do the right thing," I said.  
  
"Well, I guess I should make my report so his people can continue the treatment. And I should make a report to the truck's insurer."  
  
Then, this Negro lady came inside. She spoke to Dr. Hennessey.  
  
"That's the man's wife," said Heather. The lady then spoke to us; apparently she weas thanking us.  
  
"Someday, people will look upon this event as a turning point," I said.  
  
There were also some police on the scene; the detective who interviewed me was the same guy who interrogated me after my arrest. I gave a brief description of what I saw and heard.   
  
"Just don't cause any trouble, Irish," he said before going back to the police station.   
  
Later that day, I went to the Irisher bar to spend some money on beer. I could not very well open a savings account on account that I would not be able to take this money with me. I sat at the bar, next to a yellow-starred Jew.   
  
"I heard ye brought a nigger to the hospital," said the bartender Michael Mulligan.  
  
"Uh, yeah," I said. "St. Patrick's was the nearest hospital. I think he'll be all right."  
  
"Where will ye be spendin' Christmas, laddie?"  
  
"Here," I said. "I won't be able to get to my family this year."  
  
"Well, we always hold a Christmas celebration here at the Irisher after the mornin' Mass and before everyone spends dinner with their families."  
  
"I'd like to be here."  
  
"Excuse me, sir," a male voice said. I turned and say a man in a suit. "I'm from the Little Dublin Press, I'd like yer statement about the truck accident."  
  
"Sure," I said. So I gave him my statement.   
  
I woke up Christmas Day. I had my meal at St. Patrick's Hospital, and I greeted the Christmas Day Shift workers. I looked at myself in the mirror; I wished I had better clothes to attend Christmas Mass.   
  
So we went to the Our Lady of Hope Church just two blocks from the hospital. I sat near Heather and her family. I also saw Dr. Hennessey, some of the hospital staff and the Irisher patrons. This service would be spoken in English.  
  
And so Father Flannigan, an active man in his early sixties, started the service. I heard about the Gospel account of the birth of the Lord Jesus Christ, the first Christmas present that came straight from God. I never got tired of hearing this story, even if this version was different from the one I gew up with. The priest mentioned my act of charity during the Homily.  
  
"Someone in our community gave medical aid to an injured man. It dinna matter that the man wasn't Irish, for under Christ we are all brothers," he said.   
  
And then we continued with the Liturgy of the Eucharist and the Holy Communion. We all sang Gospel Hymns. Then the Mass was finished.   
  
I greeted the congregants a merry Christmas. I noticed that this was a tight-knit community within a large city, where everyone knew each other. It is amazing that such a positive effect can occur from the ethnic control laws which required the Irish to reside in this section of the city.   
  
I took a copy of an English-language community newspaper called the Little Dublin Press. I read a story of the delivery truck's collision with a bicycle on Chritmas Eve, and how two Irish people took the injured Negro to an Irish hospital where he was treated and released. There was also a statement from an attorney of the delivery company announcing settlement negotiations with the injured man. The story was favorable to me and Heather.   
  
The daytime Christmas party was at the Irisher tavern. A Christmas tree was lit up, and mistletoes were hanging about.   
  
"Merry Christmas," I said to Michael Mulligan.  
  
"Merry Christmas to you too," replied the bartender.  
  
I mingled among the crowd, speaking to Heather, Michelle, and Kathleen, and some of the doctors and staff from St. Patrick's Hospital.  
  
Father Flannigan then took the stage.   
  
"Hello, everyone," he said. "I've been inspired by the act pof charity and courage yesterday, when three people chose to do what is right despite the ethnic control laws. Now I invute ye all to take a stand for justice and equal treatment under th' law."  
  
I heard the priest's proposal. It reminded me of incidents on other worlds, where like-minded people took a stand to affect change.  
  
The Irisher closed at 2 P.M., on account of it being Christmas day. I decided to greet Heather goodbye.  
  
"This is for ye, Colin," she said, handing me a carved stick. "Tis an artifact picked up from the Pauite reservation east of here. I'd like ye to have it."  
  
"Thanks, Heather," i replied. "Merry Christmas."  
  
And then we kissed. 


	3. Freedom Riders

On December 26, at about 9 A.M., I and a couple of Irish folk waited at a streetcar stop. Father Flannigan was among us, for he was the one who orgsnized this little party.   
  
The red streetcar rolled along the track in the middle of the street and then stopped. It was big and red and had signs on the sides advertising some products. One by one, each of us boarded the streetcar and took a seat in the front.  
  
The streetcar operator suddenly started yelling and cursing. Apparently, he was telling us to go to the back for the front was reserved for Negroes. We refused to move until the streetcar was on its way.   
  
And then the police came in their cars, and they surrounded the streetcar. They were all yelling at us over loudspeakers.   
  
One of the cops came over to the streeetcar, and it turned out to be the detective who interrogated me at the police station.  
  
"Well, well," he said to me. "If it isn't that Irish vagrant. The judge told you to stay out of trouble, boy, but you Irish never listen. You always have to cause trouble."  
  
"We paid our fare, and we are just sitting quietly waiting to reach our stop," I said.   
  
"Go sit in the back, Irish."  
  
"No. I paid my fare, and I am just going to sit here until I reach my stop."  
  
"You Irish belong in the back."  
  
Would the cops bust in here and try to forcibly remove all the Irish on board? The detective spoke with the streetcar operator.  
  
The detective then left the streetcar. A few seconds later, I felt the streetcar move.  
  
So we all rode in the front. I watched the buildings and the cars and the people on the sidewalks. The sky overhead was covered in clouds, and I could feel a cool breeze, for the streetcars were open-air vehicles.   
  
Then the streetcar stopped at the next stop. Father Flannigan got up and led us out. We all stood at the streetcar stop, wondering if the police would come and arrest us for sitting in the front while Irish.   
  
Fortunately, there was no activity for police.   
  
Father Flannigan then addressed us.  
  
"This all worked out rather nicely," said Heather.   
  
We all then walked back to the Little Dublin neighborhood. Some of the Negroes walking along the sidewalks watched us.   
  
Heather and I later ate at a Chinese restaurant in Chinatown. It was a rather nice restaurant, described by Heather as one of the best in the city. The floor was covered in a red carpet, and the tables were covered in white tablecloths. There were fish tanks with golsfish swimming in them. Most of the people in the restaurant were Chinese with red dragon emblems on their sleeves, although there were a few Negroes. Heather and I were the only Irish in the restaraunt that night.   
  
We ordered Chow Mein and Black and Green Pepper Beef Steak. We had sizzling rice soup for our soup.   
  
"So you'll be leavin' tomorrow," said Heather.  
  
"I can't help it," I said. "And it is very unlikely I'll be coming back."  
  
"Well, I certainly don't regret knowing ya. What will ye be doin'?"  
  
"I'll move on, and try to find my brother. He's the only family I got."  
  
"Tell me about some of the places you visited."  
  
So I did. Heather certainly was interested.  
  
"You know," I said, "i rarely get to eat in fine restaurants, on account I can't take my money with me. Most of the time, I go to McDonald's or Burger King."  
  
"What?" asked Heather.  
  
"Oh, they don't exist here."  
  
And so we managed to finish our food. Finally, fortune cookies were served. I ate mine. I looked at my fortune, and it was not in English.  
  
Heather read it for me. "Ye will learn the truth of yer family," she said.  
  
Finally, it was time to go. I had gotten a bag of chips and a bottle of water for the next world.   
  
"So ye'll just disappear right in front of me?" asked Heather.  
  
"Yes," I replied. "You should not touch me, lest I take you with me."  
  
She kissed me. "I hope ye find yer family."  
  
"I know I will," I said.  
  
I looekd at my watch. Only ten seconds left.  
  
Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.  
  
And then I seeped throiugh the dimensional barriers and continued my journey. 


End file.
